Purpose
by S. Thanatos
Summary: Sirius remembers, and forgets, and remembers again. Dark, with light parts intermingled. Oh, and Sirius acts crazier than he really is.


A/N: Sirius' thought whilst in Azkaban. A bit incoherent, but he has been in Azkaban for a while, and he has just lost his best friends. Other reasons as well, but they don't really crop up all that much. Not my best written fic, would appreciate a beta for suggestions/grammar checks.  
  
Harry liked to laugh.  
  
His green eyes would glimmer and shine. His amazing, brilliant, beautiful green eyes would smile at him when he laughed.  
  
The wretched figure huddled, collapsing in on itself, in one of the dirty corners of its cell. It laughed, a hoarse and dark chuckle.  
  
"James and Lily and Harry and Remus and James and Lily and Harry and Remus and James and Lily and Harry and Remus and James..."  
  
The names that were spoken, in between chuckles, convinced Cornelius Fudge (who was listening in) that the man was set to kill those people.  
  
The broken man who was Sirius Black did not even dream of harming those people, though two of them were already dead. He spoke their names to remember those he loved with all he had, those he would always love.  
  
The first year in Azkaban, he laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. It was a dark humor that the Dementors could never take, curiously mixed up with the memory of smiling emerald eyes. The first year, he starved and bled, tried to claw his eyes out to keep from seeing again and again James' dead body and Lily's staring eyes that were so like Harry's.  
  
The first year, Sirius Black almost died.  
  
Sometime during the melding of one year to the next, he forgot that he (Harry) liked to laugh. He forgot that he (Sirius) wanted to die.  
  
But he knew one thing, a thing he told himself every day: he did not belong here. He belonged with laughing green eyes.  
  
The years passed, blurring into one big ball of misery. Sirius forgot that he belonged with laughing green eyes. All he knew was that he did not belong here, in hell, with the demons that ate souls. He belonged... he did not know where he belonged.  
  
He had forgotten his name the third year. Sometimes he remembered and told himself firmly, "My name is Sirius Black and my Godson's name is Harry Potter and I do not belong here." But then he forgot, those hoarse words becoming lost amidst a sea of pain and hopelessness.  
  
Sometimes he didn't recognize James when he saw him. Then he (who had forgotten his name) realized that James did not wear solid black, nor did he have horribly pale skin (though it was pale). And James had never hurt him the way this one did.  
  
He forgot James was dead. He forgot that his blood brother was gone. And when he remembered, the pain was fresh, as fresh as it had been the first time. And then he screamed and threw himself at walls and bashed his head against the cold stone while his nails tried desperately to claw gouges into the floor.  
  
Sometimes he forgot Harry was alive. Then he wept, like a grieving parent, like a lost child. Solid sobs came that wracked his chest, that crushed his heart. And when he remembered that Harry was alive, that his innocent eyes still blinked with wonder and still brimmed with life, he rejoiced and sighed in complete peace. Then the Dementors came and Harry was dead again, and then Sirius wept until he remembered, and then the Dementors came...  
  
Sometimes he remembered Lily and her burning hair. She sang him to sleep sometimes, and told him that Harry (who was Harry?) waited for him and loved him and needed him. Her green eyes looked at him with love and filled him with it until he thought he'd burst.  
  
He would cling to her, to her insubstantial waist, and bet her to live. Would beg her to come and tell him that James was all right, that Harry was safe, that they were all happy and had never stopped loving him.  
  
And sometimes, he would see her dead and he would back away in horror until there was nowhere else to go. She wouldn't say a word and her gloriously vibrant eyes would look at him flatly. And she would beg him, in a voiceless voice, "Take care of Harry, please Sirius, take care of my son, who I died to protect, who James died to protect."  
  
Sirius would nod and be filled with purpose, and know that he would have Harry to love and protect as soon as he escaped his hell, Azkaban.  
  
Lily would fade, her dead mouth curled in a gentle smile.  
  
But he would forget his purpose, and then she would come again and tell him it, until even if he forgot it in his head, his heart would always know it.  
  
And very rarely did Remus come, his smile still sarcastic, his eyes so very gentle.  
  
"Remmie," he would whisper. Neither would say anything after that. Their friendship was based on looks, the contact of eyes  
  
Remus would fade away.  
  
Sometimes Dumbledore, his old Headmaster and friend, would appear, his eyes twinkling sadly. "Why, Sirius? Why did you betray them? Why did you kill all those innocent muggles?"  
  
Sirius would look at him, and know that he knew how Harry was, and so would ask, over and over again: "How is Harry? Is he well, my Godson? How is he?"  
  
Sometimes Dumbledore would tell him. Sometimes he would not.  
  
Sometimes Sirius would hear a giggling voice say, "Padfoot! Daddy Padfoot!" He would smile at those words, familiar and beloved as the boy who spoke them.  
  
Even if he forgot them all, James and Lily, Remus and Dumbledore, he could never forget those words, or those eyes.  
  
In his tenth year of Azkaban, he remembered. Everything.  
  
He had forgotten, for a while, that there was a man named Voldemort. Had forgotten the horrible betrayal of Peter Pettigrew. Had forgotten that he had been blamed for James' and Lily's deaths, and those of thirteen muggles.  
  
The most important thing he'd forgotten was that he could change into a dog. Now he remembered it all.  
  
But he had still forgotten some things. The promise he had made Lily of taking care of Harry slipped his mind, though not his heart. The way Harry seemed to shine when he laughed. Flying through the air on a motorcycle.  
  
He had forgotten all that.  
  
And in his twelfth year of Azkaban, he saw the picture of Wormtail (the traitorous, murdering bastard) and the purpose of his heart and mind blended together until all he could thin k of was to kill Pettigrew and take care of Harry.  
  
With the memory of laughing green eyes never leaving his head, he changed.  
  
Into his dog form he switched, and easily squeezed through the metal bars of his cage, by-passing the Dementor standing guard.  
  
He would satisfy the needs of his heart and the needs of his mind. He would look after Harry, and he would kill Pettigrew.  
  
Maybe he would see the beautifully innocent green eyes again... 


End file.
